


I've Been Thinking About Rope A Lot

by cynki_rosha



Category: Original Work
Genre: Denial, F/M, Japanese Rope Bondage, No Sex, Shibari, Suspension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:47:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21947551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynki_rosha/pseuds/cynki_rosha
Summary: Her coworker ties her up
Kudos: 11





	I've Been Thinking About Rope A Lot

I can feel it.

He wraps another rope around my, around high up on my thighs where he knows that I can feel it. I can feel the rough tension of the rope digging into my legs, and I can feel his hands on my skin, as if they weren't touching the most sensitive parts of me.

I met him at work. He was just a work friend. Just a work friend, I told myself over and over again. He was handsome, in that unassuming way. You would never think that he was like this when we talked, you would never think he was like this as we went out to the bar together, cheering over each round of drinks and hooting and hollering about the football game on the television that we pretended that we were both into so that for a second of time out of the long agonizing days we could pretend that we were normal.

We were normal. We were just friends. We were just work friends, very friendly to each other, but not together. We weren't anything to write home about. We weren't anything to write HR about.

His hands were rough on me, which was strange, because as he handled the rope the stiffness and the roughness of the rope should have smoothed his hands out into something soft and pliable. Instead the roughness of his hands smoothed the rope into something soft and pliable, and it wormed around me, holding me taut, and I lay there above the bed as he wrapped another loop of rope around my upper thigh.

His hand was there. His hand was so close. He was so close to an HR complaint, to being something more than a work friend, someone that I would go out to a bar with an enjoy a couple of beers and a couple of touchdowns and a couple of touches at the end of the night that left me wanting more, and left me wanting to want more.

He held my legs as he tied me up, and touched me in a way that no man has ever touched me. But I had never let a man touch me like that before. Oh, of course, they had their hands on my thighs, and they had their faces up close where I was throbbingly warm and aching, but there was something different about this. There was something different about the way that he held me, and the way that he guided me through the air, something about the way that he looked up at me from between my wide-spread legs that made me feel more intensely than any orgasm, than any raise, than any shitty touchdown for football that allowed me to feel so quintessentially normal.

I never felt normal. I didn't feel normal as he touched me and tied me up, but for once in my life I didn't want to feel normal. I wanted to feel like I was completely surrendered over to him, like I was nothing else but myself, and anything else but myself.

His hand got close again, so close, so high. He told me that he wasn't going to touch me in any way that I could complain about. I believed him. And I wanted him to do it anyways. The ropes were wrapped around me, around my chest, around my hips, and they were pulling me up into the sky, and they were pulling my legs apart, and he could see everything, and he could do anything, and still he didn't do it. He put his hands up high, but they never went any higher.

My heart throbbed with the possibility of him doing me, and him not doing it just filled my body with an ache that never seemed to end, a want and a desire that drove me mad, my mind spinning and my mouth dry. I licked my lips, and he watched me do with a steady gaze that didn't faulter. It's like he had none of the desire himself. Every time the rope tightened on me, every time his palms were on my thighs, he transferred some of that desire to me, and now I was overflowing. But I was tied up. My arms were captured. My legs were captured. I couldn't do anything. I glanced at his crotch and he wasn't even hard, and then I glanced at his face, and I could see everything he wanted to do to me, laid out so plainly in the severe look of his eyes and his lips, narrowed in concentration as the rope around my thigh went over the beam in the ceiling, and up I went, even higher, climbing even higher.

He reached up and pushed my hair out of my face. His other hand wrapped around the ropes that wrapped in turn around my chest, tightening them, forcing all the air out of my lungs. He walked around his bed, carefully, stepping around the pillows up at the head, mussing up the previously laminate-straight comforter. We spun slowly around, his eyes deep into mine, the ropes tightening on me. He let go and I spun back, dizziness flitting about right behind my forehead, until he grabbed my foot, stopping me. He laced his fingers between my toes and squeezed until I cried out. It hurt--almost--with a jolt of sensitivity flying up my legs and thighs. No man has ever touched me like this--I never let them.


End file.
